


Say When

by radioshack84



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioshack84/pseuds/radioshack84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finch’s POV as he ponders how his partnership with Reese has changed in the aftermath of Number Crunch.  This fits with the slight AU established in my story “In Fear, Resolve”, but you need not have read that one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say When

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are from the song “Say When” by The Fray. I don’t own the song or POI. No money is being made here.

_I see you there, don't know where you come from_  
 _Unaware the stare from someone_  
 _Don't appear to care that I saw ya. And I want you_  
 _What's your name_  
 _'Cuz I have to know it_  
 _You let me in and begin to show it_  
 _We're terrified 'cuz we're heading straight for it, might get it._

I warned him that first day that we’d probably both wind up dead. At the time, I didn’t think it too significant. I hadn’t considered myself alive in quite some time, and he was just an employee with the set of skills necessary to do the particular job I needed him for. I knew his background but he didn’t know mine. When our work afforded us a moment or two of downtime, though, he had the unfortunate habit of trying to change that, which irked me. I told him truthfully on multiple occasions that I was a very private person. He blatantly ignored me and continued with his bothersome prying, trying to find out where I lived, what sort of food I preferred, any personal detail, really. One day he even brought me a cup of my favorite tea, I suppose to prove to me that he wasn’t giving up, but it occurs to me now that these were the first tiny signs of his trust. Various others followed, little by little, and I could tell that it scared him -- the thought of trusting someone. 

I never let him see exactly how much it terrified _me_ \-- when I realized that I was sending a _friend_ out into the field to get shot at, and not just an employee.

_You're in the song playing on the background_  
 _All alone but you're turning up now_  
 _And everyone is rising to meet you, to greet you_  
 _Turn around and you're walking toward me_  
 _I'm breaking down and you're breathing slowly_  
 _Say the word and I will be your man, your man_

Terrified doesn’t begin to describe how I feel right now, though, sitting alone in this waiting room. Sometimes, it’s not a good thing to own the world. When they saw me walk in, following John’s gurney, they were quick to jump and do whatever either of us needed, which, I suppose, was my plan in bringing him to this facility. What I needed, though, only the doctors’ skills, time, and a lot of luck would provide. 

The nurses whisked him away to the OR and me to this private lounge. They had probably feared that I would faint if I stayed. Looking down at my hands, still sticky with John’s blood, I realize that that might not have been an over-reaction. I swallow hard, my worry for him growing ever louder in volume until it’s pounding in my head along with my own blood. Unsteadily, I get up from my chair and move to the small sink that’s on one side of the room next to a coffee pot, and start to carefully clean my hands, almost wishing I were in the public waiting area so there would be something to distract me. I have no idea how much time passes as I watch the water that’s swirling down the drain turn from reddish-brown to clear, but I’m still standing there, dazed, on slightly-quaking legs, wasting water, when the doctor comes in.

I turn, and the look on his face is serious, but the prognosis he gives me is hopeful, and the next thing I know I’m sitting next to John’s bed, watching his chest gradually rise and fall. He’s deeply asleep following surgery, and will be for hours to come. He’ll never see the moisture that threatens to spill from my eyes, because we’ll never be in this situation again. It’s a vow I make with a certain measure of anger as I swipe my five-hundred dollar silk handkerchief across my face and take several shuddering breaths that do nothing to calm me or stop my eyes from watering. He has risked literally everything for this job. It’s time I start to put a lot more effort into making sure he stays safe doing it. It’s time I start being his backup, not just his boss.

_Say when_  
 _And my own two hands will comfort you_  
 _Tonight, tonight_  
 _Say when_  
 _And my own two arms will carry you_  
 _Tonight, tonight_

_Come close and then even closer_  
 _We bring it in but we go no further_  
 _We're separate._  
 _Two ghosts in one mirror, no nearer_  
 _Later on if it turns to chaos, hurricane coming all around us_  
 _See the crack, pull it back from the window, you stay low_

We already work well together, each complementing the other’s strengths, compensating for the other’s weaknesses, and after several months it’s difficult for me to imagine what I had hoped to accomplish on my own. At the same time, though, we’re worlds apart. We exist on two separate planes, in the ways we exist at all. We’re two dead men, one who is accustomed to charging headlong into chaos, and one who consistently ducks for cover. I need to learn some of his ways and he needs to learn some of mine if we’re to avoid actually becoming what we are on paper.

_Say when_  
 _And my own two hands will comfort you_  
 _Tonight, tonight_  
 _Say when_  
 _And my own two arms will carry you_  
 _Tonight, tonight_

_Come across you lost and broken_  
 _You're coming to but you're slow in waking_  
 _You start to shake._  
 _You still haven't spoken, what happened_  
 _They're coming back and you just don’t know when_  
 _You want to cry but there's nothing comin'_  
 _They're gonna push until you give in, say when_

John is not unaffected by chaos, though. The relief in his eyes when I found him in that parking structure tonight was almost as palpable as the fear that’s in them now. He’s surfaced from the anesthetic just a little, and he’s remembering, his worried eyes are locked on mine. A small sound of near-panic escapes him -- he doesn’t have the strength yet for anything more -- and I get up from my chair to rest one hand on his forehead and the other on his trembling shoulder, attempting to ground him, murmuring to him that it’s all right for the brief moments it takes him to slip back under. 

I find that I’m shaking again myself as I return to my seat. I don’t need John to tell me that tonight’s events won’t end here. The CIA isn’t going to let this go. I can’t be sure the NYPD will, either, despite Detective Carter’s change of heart. The question is, what’s to be done about it?

_Now we're here and it turns to chaos_  
 _Hurricane coming all around us_  
 _Double crack throws you back from the window, you stay low_

We’ll have to stay out of sight for awhile, for starters. I’m confident of our safety here, as I personally approved the hiring of each person who works at this hospital, but arrangements will have to be made for later on. John will need a safe place to recover, somewhere he’ll actually _feel_ safe until he gets his bearings.

_It all began with the man and country_  
 _Every plan sends another century around again_  
 _Another nation fallen_

_Maybe god can be on both sides_  
 _Of the gun never understood why_  
 _Some of us never get it so good, so good_  
 _Some of this was here before us_  
 _All of this will go after us_  
 _Never stops until we give in, give in_

Starting out, he couldn’t have possibly imagined that serving his country would lead to this evening’s atrocity, but when you’re young you often don’t understand that serving a country is just serving its people. People have flaws, and those flaws lead to murders being committed, loose ends needing to be tied up, and more people dying because they happen to be those loose ends.

That’s why the Machine exists. People have been doing terrible things to each other for a long, long time, but Nathan and I refused to accept it. On nights like this it would appear that we have failed, that the human race is just too far gone, but looking at John, I know that’s not the case. He would be the first to take the blame for the terrible acts he’s committed, but he is not as culpable as he would have me believe. Most of the operations he was involved with were set into motion long before he was brought in and he was allowed little, if any, input on their method of resolution. 

So is the case with many of the numbers. They are unwilling or misguided participants in terrible circumstances that they can’t even see coming. Those circumstances may come to pass regardless of our involvement in them, but turning a blind eye and pretending they won’t is as good as giving in and admitting defeat.

_Say when_  
 _And my own two hands will comfort you_  
 _Tonight, tonight_  
 _Say when_  
 _And my own two arms will carry you_  
 _Tonight, tonight_

The CIA may yet put a stop to our efforts, or the police, or the numbers themselves, but by some grace it didn’t happen tonight. We got there in time. He for Wendy and Paula, and I for him. John will rest and heal without interference, of that I’ll make certain, and then we will go on. Someday my initial prediction may come true, but only God -- or possibly the Machine -- can say when.

_Say when_  
 _And my own two hands will comfort you_  
 _Tonight, tonight_


End file.
